


Power Play

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [27]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, FWB, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Smutty Saturday, Vibrators, flat batteries, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Clarke's batteries are flat.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 16
Kudos: 167





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> Another smutty Saturday, another awesome prompt from Zou. This is set in some post S6 AU where everyone settled quietly in Sanctum. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!

Clarke's vibrator batteries have run out at the worst possible time.

She needs them, tonight. Bellamy smiled at her today. Not just a passing curve of the lips, oh no. He full on _smiled_ at her, eyes creasing, head ducking ever so slightly – just how he always used to smile at her, back before Praimfaya. She's been feeling hot under the collar ever since. And yes, sure, she knows it's pathetic that she's this flustered, this turned on, just because the guy who used to be her closest friend smiled at something she said in a council meeting.

But she's always been pathetic for him, hasn't she? Isn't that what he said, that time they talked about the radio calls?

She cradles the silent, still vibrator in her hand and wonders what to do. She could just use her fingers. It'll be fine, if she does that – good, even. She knows how to take care of herself. But it won't be the mind-numbing show of force she needs tonight. She needs something strong enough to distract her, to have her focused on her pleasure and her fantasy, not on her loneliness.

She'll go ask Bellamy for some batteries. That's what she decides. She'll leave hers to charge overnight and ask if she can borrow some from him in the meantime. Batteries are precious and rare on Sanctum, the kind of thing you might borrow from a friend if you're in a tight spot. And for all that her relationship with Bellamy is currently rather _distant_ , he does seem to want to be the kind of friend who helps her out with logistics. He lives in the house next door to her, has done ever since they settled permanently in Sanctum. He comes over every now and then to ask if her drain needs clearing or whether she has enough potatoes stored for winter. He can barely face speaking to her at council meetings, it sometimes seems, but when she asks him to help her insulate the roof he'll wax lyrical about the task for ages.

In short, asking him for batteries is a perfectly sensible idea.

She throws her clothes back on, laces her boots. She leaves the vibrator safely on her bedside table and creeps out into the night. It's a very short walk to Bellamy's. She's still deeply confused, honestly, by the fact he lives right next to her. It seems an odd choice when they speak to each other so little outside of tasks and chores and errands. Does he think the roof might fall in over her head if he doesn't live nearby, or something?

She arrives. She knocks at the door. She stands there, a little nervous, waiting for him to answer.

"Clarke. Hey." He greets her with a slight nod – nothing like the warm smile she won earlier, she notes sadly.

"Bellamy. Good to see you." She admits, because frankly it is _always_ good to see him. Six years apart will do that to a girl. "I was wondering if you could lend me some batteries."

He frowns. "Batteries?"

"Yeah. I only have one set. I put them on to recharge but – uh – I kind of need them _now_."

"What do you need them for?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

She's a little startled. She wasn't expecting an inquisition. She wasn't expecting him to prolong the conversation _at all_. She rather thought he would just thrust batteries into her hand, mutter something about being happy to help, and then as a counterpoint slam the door in her face.

"It doesn't matter. It's fine. I can manage without." She babbles, starting to back away from the door.

"No, I probably have some. Just – why the hell do you need batteries at this time of night? Something I can help with? A problem with the house?" He asks, frowning over at her dark windows as if they might hold the answer. As if Madi's nightlight might be broken, or some such thing.

She doesn't know why she says it. Saying it is not _sensible_ , and she's always prided herself on being a sensible sort of a woman. Perhaps she just misses being honest with Bellamy more than she realised.

"They're for my vibrator." She says quietly.

All at once, his jaw goes tight and his eyes go cold. "I'm not lending you batteries for a _vibrator_ , Clarke. Do you have any idea how rare batteries are round here? They're for radios and tools. I'm not lending you batteries so you can fuck a piece of plastic."

She bristles. A vibrator is a tool. And she has every right to experience pleasure, thank you very much.

She does what she has always done in situations like this, ever since the dropship. She _argues_.

"Radios don't work on this moon." She reminds him sharply.

"That's really not the point."

"I don't understand why it matters to you. I'm just asking to borrow some batteries for one night while mine are charging." She seems to have stopped arguing and started pleading. Does that make her even more pathetic in his eyes?

She's past caring.

"I'm not lending you batteries." He repeats, yet again. "I'm not giving out resources like that just so you can have a damn orgasm."

She's hurt. She doesn't mind admitting it. She has loved this man for almost as long as she's known what love _is_. She never thought she'd see the day when he'd stand on his doorstep and yell at her for daring to have a healthy appetite for sex.

An appetite she really wishes he would help her out with.

She shakes her head, willing the tears not to spill from her eyes. That would really seal her _pathetic_ status, wouldn't it? She'd never be able to look him in the eye again.

She's not sure will be able to look him in the eye after this anyway, as it happens.

She turns to go. She's never felt so _tired_ , she's pretty sure. Tired and riled up and frustrated all at once – it makes for a messy, conflicted combination.

"Clarke, wait."

She doesn't. She has no interest in hearing what he has to say. Probably a stiff apology and an offer to pick up a box of eggs for her tomorrow, she imagines. She's sick and tired of this – the way they still go through the motions of friendship but seem to have totally forgotten how to communicate with each other.

She keeps walking.

"Come on, Clarke. If you really need to get off maybe – ah – maybe I could help you out with that."

She freezes. Did she hear that right? Is he honestly offering to get her off? She spins slowly on the spot, takes in the sight of him standing there on his doorstep, hands outstretched towards her, face in tight lines. He looks genuine. He looks like he means it, but also like he hates himself for meaning it.

She swallows with difficulty. This is not how she imagined hooking up with Bellamy, to say the least. She's imagined so many different scenarios, so many different times. That's how she keeps herself company when she's lonely with her vibrator at night. But she has _never_ imagined him looking annoyed and offering to scratch her itch as a practical favour.

But will it be better to have him like this, than never to have him at all? At least, she hopes, it might give her something new to think about when her batteries are recharged.

"I won't say no if you're really offering." She says simply.

He nods, silent. He steps back gestures for her to enter the house.

She gulps. This is really happening. She walks back towards him, crosses the threshold.

"Close the door behind you." He requests, voice low.

She does. She turns to push the door carefully back into the frame, taking her time over it while she wonders quite how this is going to unfold.

Aha. Asking her to close the door was a tactic on his part. A ruse. She figures that out, all at once, as she feels his arms close around her. He's got one around her chest, a large hand engulfing her breast. He's got one slung over her hips, pulling her back tightly against him.

It feels good. So good. _Too_ good. She was right to agree to this. Already she knows she will remember this moment next time she needs something good to hold onto. When she wants to recall what it feels like to be secure and safe and surrounded by his arms.

It gets better. He presses a kiss to her neck, just below her ear. She wasn't expecting kissing, somehow, from that very businesslike invitation he issued. And yes, sure, it's not exactly a passionate kiss on the lips. But it's a kiss all the same, and it has a fresh wave of arousal surging between her legs.

"Are you ready for me?" He asks in a growl. "Did you already play with your vibrator? Got yourself all hot and bothered?"

She nods, wriggles against him. Oh god. Is that an erection she can feel, constrained by his clothes? But pressing into her butt all the same?

That's not a surprise, she tells herself. It's nothing personal. He's a hot-blooded guy with a substantial sexual history. If he is hard, if that's not just a very unconventional belt buckle, then it's only because he likes sex.

"Did you think of me while you got yourself warmed up?" He's asking now, even as he starts unbuckling her belt. "Did you wish you had my fingers instead of that vibrator?"

She nods again – not because it's true, of course, but because that's the right thing to do. It's important to play along with his script, isn't it? It's part of setting the mood and playing her role. She owes him that much at least, to buy into his pretence, if he's going to be such a decent friend and get her off.

But also, for the record, it is true. She _always_ thinks of him, whether she's got a vibrator between her legs or not. He's just background music in her head, at this point. Persistently, stubbornly stuck there, come hell or high water.

"Please, Bellamy." She breathes. She figures she's supposed to join in a little. "Please, I need you."

"What do you need from me, Clarke?"

"Need you to make me feel good."

He growls – not words this time, no words. Rather just a senseless noise of arousal and anger and she doesn't even know what else. He's got her belt open now, so he tugs her clothes out of the way and slips his hand into her underwear.

"You're so wet, Princess." Her breath catches. She was _not_ expecting him to call her that. Did she imagine it, perhaps?

"Bellamy -"

"Is this all for me, Princess? You got yourself this wet just thinking about me? Just from me holding you like this?"

She nods, gives a little whining noise. _Pathetic_. That's what she is.

"You're OK. I've got you. Let me help you out." He murmurs, softer now.

He does. He _does_ help her out, and then some. He slips two fingers inside of her, gets moving right away. She's glad of that – she was so ready she was about to burst, she's pretty sure.

He fucks her hard with his fingers, and she likes it. It's as simple as that. It's everything she's been wanting from him for months – a little energy to their friendship, as if she's actually important to him. The kind of passion he showed when he was begging her to wake up in her ordeal with Josephine. It's the kind of sheer forcefulness she's not seen from him in quite some time.

She knows it's all part of the act, of course. All part of the play that comes with sex. It's nothing personal, just the role he likes to take. She heard similar stories from some of the girls back at the dropship camp – tales of firm fingers, of dirty talk that made them feel special.

She _isn't_ special to him, and she can't afford to forget it.

She feels special, though. In this moment she feels so damn special it _hurts_. It's everything she has ever wanted, to have him hugging her against him so insistently, so protectively, and making love to her so passionately.

She comes quickly. That's pathetic, too, isn't it? But she can't help it. She was wound up before she even got here. She was half-gone the moment Bellamy got his fingers inside of her. So she's not surprised when she hears herself give a loud, keening moan, nor when she feels herself clench hard around his hand.

She's a little surprised that he holds her up, afterwards, when she wants to flop boneless to the floor. But he holds her still with that hand around her chest and his other hand back on her hips, now, leaving sticky dampness at the hem of her shirt.

"Thanks." She says simply, reaching for her belt. "I guess I should -"

"Come on, that doesn't even count. That was, what, five minutes tops? You'll be missing your batteries again within hours if you go home like that."

She frowns, head slouching low. She knows she's pathetic, OK? She knows she just came in four minutes flat. She doesn't need him to call her out on it, to tell her that orgasm _doesn't even count_.

But hang on – what was he implying about going home?

"What are you saying?" She asks simply.

"You want another? Then you can go home a little more satisfied?" He whispers against her ear, almost _teasing_. He's not teased her in too long, and she's missed it.

"I guess. Yeah. If you're still game." She grinds back against him a little, decides that's _definitely_ an erection. "You want to get involved?" She asks him pointedly.

He laughs a breathy laugh and it tickles her neck. She made him _laugh_. Tonight gets better and better.

"Yeah. If that's OK with you?" He checks.

"Yeah."

He lets her go, then. She's disappointed for a moment. But then she realises he has another plan in mind, when he leads her by the hand to his small kitchen table.

"Bend over." He instructs her, brows raised, while he unbuckles his belt.

She nods, tries for a coy smile. She was hoping for something a little more personal, honestly. That fingerfuck in the hallway was surprisingly intimate, what with the way he was holding her so tight and kissing her neck. But it seems now he's simply planning to bend her over a table and use her to keep his cock warm.

Whatever. She's not arguing. Better than not getting his cock at all, isn't it?

Yes. Pathetic. Totally and utterly _pathetic_.

He doesn't keep her waiting. As soon as she's in position he's easing inside of her, grasping her hips and thrusting in and out, in and out. He's not being subtle, here, gripping her and having his way with her and leaving her gasping out stunned breaths.

It's still strangely intimate, though. Not the touches so much as the words. That endless string of praise that she knows full well is nothing personal, but that touches her heart all the same.

"You looks so good bent over for me like this, Princess. So hot watching my cock slide in and out of you."

She gulps. He's said that to other girls before. She knows he has – she heard Bree bragging about it one time.

"Feels so good."

Yes. Generic. Impersonal. She can deal with this.

"Always thought you'd be louder than this, Princess. Always thought you'd be a talker."

Wow. That's – ah – that's very personal indeed. Does he mean to imply that he's thought about this? Or is he simply chastising her, demanding she does something a little more useful than just lying still and taking it?

"It's just – a lot." She gasps, as he hits particularly deep inside her. "I only came here for batteries." She tries to joke, rather ruins it by ending on a groan.

He goes still at once. "You OK? Too much? You need me to -"

"It's fine. It's good. You can keep going." She _needs_ him to keep going. She can deal with being fucked hard a lot better than she can deal with _talking_ about being fucked hard.

He does keep going. But he goes just a little slower, now, and his hands on her hips are more firm than furious. He returns to those comfortable, impersonal compliments, and she tries a few of her own in turn. Things like _so good_ and _right there_ and _gonna come on your cock_.

She does. She's as good as her word. She comes again – but it takes her a little longer, this time round. She hopes that's a bit more reasonable. This was good, and satisfying, but it just didn't get her riled up so much as Bellamy fingering her in the hall.

It didn't feel like a fantasy she could think about with her vibrator, you know? It felt like _getting off_ , rather than _making love_. She knows he probably didn't mean it to come across that way, in the hall, but that's the way she took it. That felt more like Bellamy. This could have been anyone, but for the sound of his voice.

She sets her clothes to rights quickly when they're done. She nods at him, polite and grateful, starts heading to the door.

"Thanks. That was good. _Satisfying_." She tells him, tone teasing.

He smiles a little. It's not quite a full, true, Bellamy smile, but it's at least a quirking of the lips.

"Any time, Princess. Let me know next time your batteries are flat."

He says that to everyone, she tells herself, as she leaves. It's the kind of thing he used to say to Roma or Fox or Bree. A casual invitation to get in touch for a quick screw another day.

Why does that thought hurt so much? She really is even more pathetic than she realised.

…...

She tries to act normal, the following day.

She fails miserably. Madi asks her at breakfast if she has a stomach ache. Raven asks her at lunch why she looks confused. Bellamy doesn't smile at her in the council meeting that afternoon – but he does drop his pen on the floor, and she scrambles to pick it up, and ends up headbutting his chair along the way.

Pathetic. Did she ever lead the human race? Or was that all a fever dream?

Her batteries are charged, now. She goes to bed that night, puts the charged batteries in her vibrator, gets to work. She's got a method she usually follows – think of a little scenario, maybe sketch a quick picture of Bellamy's face or hands or neck. Then she'll start by teasing the vibrator around her clit, before deciding whether today is a day for penetration or not.

It's a finely honed routine.

It lets her down, today. For the first time, as she's lying there, she's not thinking _pleasure_ and _more_ and _yes_.

She's thinking that Bellamy lives next door, and that next door is very close by. That she does, in fact, own shoes, and she could, in fact, go call on him.

She admits defeat. She dresses, pulls some boots on. She can just tell him her batteries are still flat, she reasons. She can maybe even tease him that he must not have satisfied her so well last night, maybe steer their sex in the direction of something more to her tastes.

No. She's getting ahead of herself. He might say no. Or he might have someone else over – she's not noticed him hooking up with anyone else since he and Echo broke up, but she doesn't actually spend every spare minute peeking out the curtains at his doorstep.

She's never done that at all, in fact. Obviously. Of course. That would be weird and creepy. Just – sometimes she likes to look over at his house just to check it's still there. Just to remind herself he hasn't left her again, not yet.

She knocks on the door. He answers at once, and he looks surprised.

"Clarke. Hey." It's not a perfect repeat of last night. Not quite. There's a little more lightness in his voice.

"My batteries are still flat." She announces, awkward.

He frowns. "I thought you put them on to charge last night?"

"I did. But – uh – still flat. I think the charger must be broken. But I only just realised that. So I guess I'll ask Raven to fix it in the morning." She babbles, ears heating in humiliation.

 _Pathetic_. She should just turn round and walk right out of here.

"That's a shame. You here to borrow batteries or my cock?" He asks, leaning up against the doorframe with a light in his eyes she hasn't seen in _years_.

Is he teasing her for real? Is that a thing they do again, now?

"Do I get a choice?" She jokes back in kind.

"No. Cock or nothing. Take it or leave it." He tosses it out there, but he sounds a little tense, she thinks.

"You made that an easy choice." She tells him, trying for a smirk as she walks right up to him.

He grins, steps aside to let her through. "I've been thinking – you want to use the bed this time?" He offers.

She nods at once, but she's not really thinking too much about the bed. She's more stuck on _I've been thinking_. He's been musing on this in her absence? He was hoping she would come back for more?

That's encouraging, she decides. That's really rather promising.

That's what gives her the confidence to start stripping her shirt off, the moment she enters his bedroom. If he's willing to imply he's been planning what they might get up to, then she is too. First and foremost in her mind? The idea that she would like to be wearing less, today. She'd like him to be wearing less, too. She wants skin on skin contact, closeness, something intimate and personal.

She's aware it's unfair to ask that of him, when this is nothing personal for him. But a little naked touching doesn't seem like such an outlandish thing to request as part of a hookup.

"Someone's eager." He comments, raking his eyes over her.

She glows a little beneath his gaze. She hasn't even got to the good part, yet. Emboldened, she takes her bra off and throws it aside.

He steps closer. He reaches out for her – but for her waist not her breasts, to her surprise.

"Is kissing OK?" He asks gruffly.

She nods. Kissing is _very much_ OK. Kissing sounds intimate, she thinks. It sounds like exactly what she wants from him.

He gets started, lips on her lips, hands pulling her snug against him. It's incredible, all heat and eagerness but tender, too. She doesn't really remember the touch or taste of his lips from the day he brought her back to life – she wasn't exactly present in the moment, then. So this is essentially the first time she has felt his mouth against hers, and it's definitely the first time he's actually _kissed_ her.

She's not so sure she needs an orgasm, now. She thinks she'd quite happily keep kissing for the rest of the night instead. But that's probably not what Bellamy's planning, she figures, so she decides to heat things up a little. She pulls herself flush against his hips, starts grinding against him as best she can.

"You're really in a hurry today." He notes, laughing a little.

She pulls back, worried she's done the wrong thing. She thought he wanted it like this? Fast and effective? Isn't that what he was aiming for with the table, yesterday?

He follows her. He reaches for her belt, gets her stripped stark naked, then gestures to the bed with a nod of his head.

She follows his cue, lies herself down. He unbuckles his belt, gets his cock springing free.

That's when she realises her mistake. She's taken things so fast he's still almost entirely dressed. And that probably doesn't matter to him, because he thinks they're just here to scratch an itch. But it matters to her, damn it. She wants skin against skin, wants to feel his touch.

She wants something to think of with her vibrator tomorrow night, because she really cannot keep lying about those batteries forever.

He's lying on top of her, now, and she has her hands placed on a warm stripe of his bare lower back where his shirt has ridden up. She decides to take that and run with it, starts tugging it higher up his back in the hopes of taking it off altogether.

But he gets there at the same time. He's tugging it the opposite way – back down, trying to cover his bare skin.

"Sorry." She mutters at once. "Sorry. Just – I wanted to take it off."

"Umm, sure. Yeah. If you want." He says, visibly reluctant.

She frowns. She can't make sense of this. Is he really so keen to see her back out the door again?

"It's fine. Keep it on if you prefer." She tells him, embarrassed.

"No, I can take it off. That's – uh – yeah."

He takes it off so quickly she thinks he might strain a muscle. He doesn't sit up and let her admire his body, either – he sort of stays hunched over her, as if he can't wait to get the moment over with.

Stranger and stranger.

She wonders if it's more than just his desire to get this whole fuck over and done with. He's acting like he doesn't want her to see him undressed, as if he's self-conscious for some reason. But she can't make sense of that. He's _stunning_ , all soft brown skin over firm muscle. She can't keep her hands off his shoulders, honestly. But she feels like she ought to be checking out every other part of him, too, if this is the only time she ever gets to hold him shirtless. She ought to memorise every contour of his arms, the smooth planes of his back.

No. That's not the point. The point is, Bellamy is uncomfortable, and she doesn't know why. Could he be feeling some kind of insecurity about his body? Something she missed out on noticing what with all this new distance that has sprung up between them, since Praimfaya?

She can't fix it now. That's what she decides, as she feels him push his cock into place. All she can do is enjoy this moment.

She does that in earnest. She touches every part of him that she can reach, absolutely revelling in the chance to explore his bare torso. She bucks her hips up into him, makes no secret of how much she's enjoying herself. He's running his hands all over her body, too, and devoting a large portion of time to her breasts, she notes.

She remembers what he said yesterday about expecting her to be more talkative and gives it a try.

"Feels so good having you on top of me like this. I like being able to touch you." She says, stopping to gasp a couple of times when he thrusts particularly hard.

He laughs, turns it into a slightly messy kiss. "You don't want me to tie your hands behind your back then?"

She gasps. Is he offering? That could be hot. But on balance, she'd miss being able to grip his shoulders.

"I like this." She tells him, pressing into firm muscle to prove her point.

He groans a little. She's not sure why, and this is hardly the kind of arrangement that invites her to ask him.

She tries again with the talking. "Perfect. Way better than batteries."

Another laugh. That's more than he's laughed with her outside of sex in _months_.

"Thanks, Princess." A gasping breath. "Sweet compliment."

She presses a kiss to his collarbone, tries to think of something else to say. But she's beginning to struggle for words now, if she's being honest. It's the arousal messing with her brain as well as her breath. She's not feeling coherent, not sure she could talk in more than two-word snatches.

She tries something else instead. She buries her face in his neck, breathes in the much-missed scent of him. She used to love resting her head here when they would hug, she remembers. And now it's even better, because she can press kisses to the soft skin here, too.

He likes that. She can tell by the way he angles his head, granting her better access, moaning all the while. She tangles a hand in his hair, tugging at the curls that are longer than she remembers, pulling them down over his forehead as she tilts his head and presses deeper into his neck.

She dares to take things a little further. She sucks a little bruise into his neck, hears him groan loud and low in response. Slowly, carefully – _tenderly_ , even – she deepens the mark.

This is the only chance she'll ever get to claim him, so she had better make it good.

It's driving him wild. She didn't expect such a reaction. His hips are shuddering, fast and sloppy. He's making the most maddening noises, louder and ever louder until she thinks half the village must be able to hear them.

Then he groans a last groan and goes still, collapsing on top of her. She's shocked, honestly. She didn't think he'd be one to leave her hanging.

She doesn't mind, though. She actually kind of _likes_ it. There's something about it that makes her feel powerful and sexy.

The opposite of pathetic.

No. She's overthinking it. This is nothing personal – he's just only got off twice in the last six months. Or twice with a partner, at least. His masturbation routine probably doesn't require batteries, she muses.

He doesn't keep her waiting long. He rolls off of her, buries his face in her chest to take a nipple into his mouth. At the same time he gets his fingers in place to coax her the rest of the way to orgasm.

It's better today – better even than it was when he held her in the hall. He's shirtless and pressed up tight against her side, so she can stroke a hand absently over his back. And what he's doing with his mouth on her breasts is simply incredible.

She doesn't feel pathetic, when she comes quickly, this time round. It's like he's shown her that's OK now – or maybe it just doesn't seem to matter so much, amidst the laughter they have started to share once more.

When she's done, Bellamy looks up at her with a sheepish smile. He looks adorable, and it shoots straight to her heart. He's got his hair falling over his forehead, something like how he used to wear it. His eyes are happy, his jaw relaxed, and she _still_ cannot get over how hot those shoulders are.

She reaches down to stroke a tentative finger over his cheek. Is this allowed? She's not sure. He doesn't seem to object, so she combs her fingers through the curls that have tumbled down over his forehead instead. They're longer than they used to be, straighter. But he still looks a little more like her familiar Bellamy from before Praimfaya while he's looking up at her like this.

"Satisfied?" He asks, cheeky and smirking, almost the king of the dropship camp once more.

"Yeah. Thanks. That was great." She admits, open and honest with him for a change.

She wonders what happens now. She's lying naked in his bed. Does that mean something? Did he invite her to use the bed this time for a reason? Is he smiling up at her like that because he'd like her to stay?

He rolls aside, grabs his shirt from the side of the bed, tugs it back over his head at once.

Right. It looks like they're not hanging around for a naked cuddle, then.

She supposes she had better get on her way.

…...

Bellamy is sporting a hickey the next morning.

Obviously he is. She should have realised he would be. She left quite a mark, last night. But it never occurred to her that she'd have to sit opposite him in a council meeting and see her bruise standing out against the soft skin of his neck. He's not even tried to cover it. She could swear it would be less visible if he'd chosen his big, bulky guard jacket today.

She peeps up at him, tries for a smile. She gets a smile back – a good one, like the one he gave her two days ago. She thinks he might even be _blushing_ , although it's difficult to tell.

Then he's fidgeting in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his arms for no apparent reason. It gets better. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair then shake it out slightly, giving a bit of bounce to the curls.

She looks away, biting her lip. She's a member of the council that cares for the last remaining members of the human race. She takes her duties seriously, thank you very much. She's not about to be distracted by the half-estranged best friend she has occasionally hooked up with.

She runs right out of the meeting, the moment it is over. She heads directly for Raven's workshop, because it has occurred to her there's something she needs to do. She left a gaping hole in her lie, and she needs to do what she can to shore it up.

"Raven. Hey. If Bellamy asks, could you tell him you fixed my battery charger?"

"I did what?" Raven asks, brows raised. "Is this some kind of weird code?"

"No. You know the charger for my rechargeable batteries? If Bellamy asks, could you tell him it was broken and you had to fix it?"

"Why would I tell him that?" She asks, either confused, or pretending to be confused.

"Because that's what I told him and – and I need him to believe me."

"So you want me to lie to Bellamy because you lied to him too." Raven concludes.

Ah. That's – that's not good. Clarke gulps a little, considers what's going on here. Raven's right. This isn't the route towards more honesty and a more genuine friendship with Bellamy. She cannot just keep hooking up with him and pretending that's OK. It's not good for either of them, to keep at it when she's so in love with him and he's so... _ambivalent_ about her.

She mustn't go to him tonight. She must stay home and stick with her vibrator. That's much healthier for everyone.

Raven must read her crestfallen look on her face.

"Clarke, wait. I didn't mean -"

"You're right. I can't ask you to lie to him for me."

"Don't worry about it. It's only some batteries." Raven is evidently still puzzled. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just – I want you guys to be OK."

Clarke nods absently. That's the nicest thing Raven has said to her in quite some time, she believes.

But it's not enough to dull her disappointment at the thought of no more impersonal hookups with Bellamy.

…...

Clarke does pretty well at sticking to her plan that night, staying away from Bellamy, using her vibrator. Sure, she has a couple of pathetic moments where she replays last night in her mind. But she's more or less managing, and things are starting to get interesting now. Her trusty vibrator really is a good tool.

She's got it shoved down her pyjama bottoms and is half way to seeing stars when there is a knock at the door.

She's surprised to say the least. They don't usually get visitors so late. But Sanctum is pretty safe, these days, so she's not alarmed.

She turns the vibrator off, sets it on her bedside table. She hops out of bed, straightens her pyjamas, heads for the door.

It's Bellamy. Bellamy is standing on her doorstep, smiling sheepishly at her. And he looks _unfairly_ good – he's wearing a black shirt she hasn't seen before, and his hair is falling over his forehead in an echo of his old curls. He smells good, too – she can tell from here.

This is really not making her resolution any easier.

"Bellamy. I wasn't expecting you." She offers, nervous. She can still feel the dampness between her legs from her interrupted playtime. Can he tell what she was doing? Can he smell it on the air, perhaps?

No, she's probably the only one out of the two of them being driven out of her mind by a scent, right now.

He laughs stiffly. "Really? You weren't? Even after the last two nights? Just thought I'd pop over and ask how your batteries are doing."

"Oh. That's kind of you."

An even stiffer laugh. "You know I'm happy to help any time. It felt right to offer."

Screw it. If he's here, if he's this keen to offer his services, what's the worst that can happen? It's not like she's in danger of getting her heart broken. Her heart has been in pieces for a long time, now.

"That's great. Actually – my batteries are still flat." She lies through her teeth.

He brightens right away. "Great. You want me to...?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." She's not sure what she's agreeing to, only that she _does_ want him to. She wants it desperately. "Come on in."

He's smiling cautiously as he crosses the threshold. She leads him to her room, finds herself realising all at once that she left the vibrator out, damp, on her bedside table.

"I was just using it to get warmed up. Just as a dildo." She explains hurriedly.

Then she flushes hot. He never asked. She didn't need to go telling him that.

He doesn't look embarrassed for her, though. If anything, he looks a little disappointed. "You didn't need to do that, Princess. You could have come and asked me to take care of you."

Right. They're back to that act, or role play, or whatever it's supposed to be. She nods, meek, reaches up to press a little grateful kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He turns to catch her lips at once, starts kissing her hungrily. He's cradling her head at the same time, though, and it makes for rather a confusing combination. It's like he wants to take care of her almost as much as he wants to fuck her brains out.

No. That's just her own fantasies talking. She needs to get herself in line, here – he's just being a good friend. Or impersonal. Or – or whatever the hell this is.

They kiss for a while, and it's good. Eager but enjoyable, too. Not fast and dirty for the sake of it, but definitely going places.

These pyjamas are certainly going to need a wash after this. She can feel them clinging, sticky, between her legs.

At length, Bellamy pulls back. "Let me get you warmed up properly, Princess. I want to use my mouth for you."

She's moaning and nodding in agreement before she has quite had chance to process that. Oral feels oddly intimate as a suggestion, she thinks. And it won't get him off. Why is he suggesting it?

But damn it, she really wants to know how his mouth feels.

He eases her pyjamas off slowly, pressing kisses to her heated skin all the while. Then he's nudging her back towards the bed, then scooting into place between her legs. He's lowering his head, ready to -

"Wait." She says, impulsive.

He looks up, startled.

"I just – it would help me get in the mood if you were shirtless. Or – or naked, even. But it seemed yesterday like you weren't comfortable with that, and I want you to be comfortable. But – if you could – yeah." She trails off, cringing. _Pathetic_. Was she ever a diplomat?

He laughs stiffly, the frown on his face stiffer still. "You sure about that, Princess? I'm not twenty-three any more. I'm not the guy who used to wander around shirtless at the dropship." He says, head ducked. But it's not ducked in that adorable little nodding motion he does when he's happy. It's ducked like he's properly embarrassed, and she doesn't like it.

"That's because you've got more sensible, but you haven't got any less hot." She tells him, totally matter of fact.

He looks up, visibly startled, watching her face carefully. "You're serious? You – you want me to undress? You'd like that?"

"I'd like it a lot." She admits, flushing fiercely.

They're both making a mess like a pair of teenagers here, she thinks. To be fair, she did give him a hickey last night. There's clearly something about the pair of them together that recaptures a more youthful kind of atmosphere. That's great, when it has them laughing together. But it turns out it also makes them thoroughly inept.

He takes his shirt off slowly, as if worried she might change her mind. She doesn't see what he was so worried about – although she understands that the problem was clearly in his head not actually with his body. But he's still stunning, still the most beautiful man she's ever seen – in all fairness, she admits she might be a little biased. Sure, his shoulders are broader than they used to be, but in a good way. And she supposes she probably couldn't use his abs as sandpaper any more, but honestly, she doesn't _want_ to. She just wants to be able to hold onto him and show him how much she adores him.

OK. Well. That got a little out of hand. They're just hooking up, she reminds herself firmly.

"You look great." She says honestly, watching as he takes off his trousers in turn. He takes his underwear off with them, too, before settling back onto the bed between her legs.

"You too. I should have said that yesterday. Or the day before." He babbles, evidently flustered. "Yeah. Beautiful."

 _Beautiful_.

Beautiful is not a word she ever used with Niylah. It's not a word that has much place in casual hookups, in her experience. And there's something about the way Bellamy is looking at her, right now, that is playing dangerous games with her heart.

She can't take it any more. She simply can't. She has to say something or she will burst. She has always thrived on having the answers, and these last three days have her filled with nothing but questions – questions, and copious amounts of Bellamy's come.

"Bellamy, what is this? What are we doing here?" She asks him, and even to her own ears her voice sounds heavy and tired.

He bites his lip. He looks down at her, laid bare before him. He looks back up to meet her right in the eyes.

"It seem to me like what we're doing is pretending to each other – _and to ourselves_ – that your vibrator batteries are flat so we have an excuse to keep hooking up."

She nods, smiling cautiously. It seems to her like they're doing that, too – only she didn't dare to believe it until she heard the words from his own mouth.

"And you want that excuse?" She asks softly. "You want _me_?"

He snorts, a hollow, humourless sound. "Try again, Clarke. You know better than that."

"You need me?" She tries. He did say that, when he coaxed her back from the dead.

"I love you." He corrects her, almost apologetic. "I've been in love with you a hundred and thirty two years, give or take."

She gasps. That's too good to be true, surely. "You love me the way I love you?" She asks, reaching down to stroke a tentative finger down the length of his cheek.

He turns to press a kiss to the pad of her finger. "You do? I didn't think you did. I was so sure I missed my chance." He tells her, beginning to smile slightly.

"I thought you didn't see me like that. You came back from space with Echo." She reminds him sadly.

"And then I ran away from all my family and friends to save your life." He points out. "I started screaming that I needed you and then gave you the kiss of life. Did that not give you a hint?"

"I didn't want to get my hopes up. I thought you were just saving me because saving people is your thing and maybe it wasn't about _me_. Or maybe you were just trying to make it safe for your family to settle here."

"Or maybe I was head over heels in love with you and desperate not to lose you?" He suggests, brow arched, stroking a hand absently over her stomach.

"Yeah. Kind of seeing that now. I'm sorry – I didn't -"

"It's OK." He whispers, lying his head to rest on her thigh and smiling up at her. "It's OK. We're here now. We're good."

She relaxes at that, takes a few deep breaths. He's right – no sense in regretting the past. And it's so lovely and calm, lying here with him, while he's using her leg as a pillow and smiling up at her.

"You want that orgasm now?" He asks softly, laughing at himself a little.

She's grateful for that. She's always been grateful for his talent of finding laughter in tense situations. She reaches down to comb her hands through his curls – those curls she now understands he must have worn like that for her sake.

She can't believe she didn't see it sooner. Or maybe she _did_ see it sooner – maybe she just didn't dare to do anything about it. Maybe that's why she went to ask him for vibrator batteries that night, and told him what they were for. The only thing that she ever truly worries about is the people she cares about, and her relationships with them. She's been so damn scared of getting things wrong with Bellamy, all these years, that it was a struggle to convince herself to do anything at all.

That's why she wants a kiss a hell of a lot more than she wants an orgasm, right now.

She shakes her head at him gently. "Come up here. I want to hold you and kiss for a bit."

He pouts. "I want to make you happy."

"You'll make me happier with a cuddle." She counters.

He does as she asks, grinning as he crawls up the bed. He kisses her softly for a few minutes, sweeping a gentle hand over her breasts all the while.

But then, it seems, he decides on a new tactic.

"Sit up for me." He demands.

She complies instinctively. She quite likes it when he gets a little bossy in bed – there's something she's learnt in the last few days. Or rather, she likes it when he gets bossy as long as he's doing what she actually wants him to do. She hasn't quite left leadership behind, just yet.

He arranges them so that she's sitting in his lap. And then, to her surprise, he reaches for the vibrator.

"Bellamy?"

"Trust me." He says simply.

She nods. She can do that, more or less. But there's just one thing she wants to clear up first, thank you very much.

"The batteries really were flat that first night."

"And last night?" He asks pointedly, right in her ear.

"Last night I just wanted you – _needed_ you." She admits. "I love you." She concludes, inadequate but heartfelt.

"I love you too." He says easily, joyfully, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "Now hold still for me."

It's like that first night. That's the thought that strikes her more than anything. It's as if, even then, he was trying to show her how much he cared. She can see that, now. There's an echo of it, here and now, as he holds her tight and fondles her breasts while he takes the vibrator down to tease her clit.

It's good. It has her writhing in his arms, trying to reach for more. And all the while he's pressing kisses to her neck and ear, whispering words of love.

It's good, but she wants more. She starts wriggling a bit more, tries turning in his arms.

"I want to face you." She tells him firmly.

He nods, lets her move within his looser grasp as he sets the vibrator aside.

"I'm sorry about that first time." He murmurs. "I knew I'd totally lose it if I was looking at your face. But I – yeah. I'm sorry. Should have communicated better. Should have been honest and trusted you."

"It's OK. It makes sense now. And it was still good enough to have me coming back for more, wasn't it?"

He makes a little noise, somewhere between a laugh and a hum. And then he makes a different noise altogether as she sinks down onto the length of his cock, straddling him confidently.

"You good?" She checks.

"Yeah."

He tightens his arms around her once more. She's almost a little annoyed by that – it restricts her movement, and she was sort of looking forward to getting on top and fucking him for a change. But actually, she decides, he's right. This suits the mood much better, her just moving slowly, rocking her hips, grinding against him more than she's working the length of him. They get to hold each other close, keep talking as she moves.

"Would you ever have told me?" She asks now, as she presses her lips to his neck.

He doesn't need to ask what she's talking about. He knows – she can feel it in the way his arms tense slightly around her.

She kisses him through it, coaxes him back to the present moment. He relaxes again, starts stroking a thumb over the sensitive skin of her back.

"No." He says, raw and honest. "I meant to tell you tonight. That was my plan when I came to your door. But it didn't happen, did it? So I'm guessing it never would if you hadn't asked for it like that." He gets out, breathy with some mixture of arousal and exasperation, she thinks.

She hugs him ever tighter, presses a kiss to that mark she made on his neck last night.

"What about you?" He asks in turn.

"No. I'd got myself convinced you didn't feel that way at all."

He shakes his head, tilts her face up for another urgent kiss. But it's a different kind of urgency, this time – an urgent need to communicate their feelings, rather than simply to chase pleasure.

Clarke cannot decide whether to introduce a new topic of conversation. She loves sitting here like this, Bellamy's cock inside of her, simply existing in his personal space and feeling the implicit possessiveness of their position. She thinks she'd gladly sit and chat with him like this for hours on end. Maybe that's something they could try, now they've confessed their love and all. Maybe there will be endless hours for them to spend together, in the future.

The best thing about tonight? She no longer feels pathetic in the slightest for wanting that.

For now, she figures it's time to take things up a gear. She can feel the pleasure blooming low in her core, despite their slow pace. It's a slightly different kind of pleasure, she thinks – not the desperate chasing of orgasm that has characterised their sexual encounters on the last couple of nights, but a steady, warm glow that feels like nothing she has known before.

That's what has her groaning, writhing deeper into Bellamy's lap. He sounds absolutely wrecked, moaning loudly with his face buried in the crease of her neck. She finds that she is feeling really rather emotional about the whole thing, touched by his heartfelt response.

She gets there first, but not by much. They come together, more than anything else, curled so tightly up against each other that Clarke is no longer sure where she ends and Bellamy begins.

It doesn't matter. That's what she decides, as the haze starts to clear. They're together now, a team. There is no ending or beginning – it is foolish to think such a thing.

Neither of them moves, when they are done. They simply sit there and breathe for a long time.

"Will you stay?" She asks simply.

"As long as you'll have me. Madi won't mind seeing me at the breakfast table?"

"She won't mind. She'll be _ecstatic_." Clarke admits on a laugh.

"Then I'll stay."

"Forever?" She dares to ask. "Move in? We've wasted so much time, Bellamy. I don't want to waste a second longer."

"We have the whole of the rest of our lives." He reminds her softly.

"So that's a yes." She concludes around a kiss.

"Of course it's a yes."

There's a moment's pause. Clarke's still sitting in place, Bellamy's cock growing soft inside of her. That's progress with one of her new fantasies at least – the idea of simply sitting here on his lap like this for a while. He's still holding her tight, rubbing his hands over her bare back. She can't resist responding in kind, still fascinated by his naked torso.

It's Bellamy who breaks the silence – with a bad joke, of course. He's been helping her to lighten the load like that for years, with jokes from chocolate cake to her face on a flag.

"Good job you came to me for those batteries. Otherwise we'd both have been wanking alone for the rest of our lives."

She laughs, presses her face into the crook of his neck. Drops a little kiss on that mark on his neck.

It turns out sex is a whole lot better when shared with a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
